Trying to critique The Diary of Anne Frank is like trying to critique Norwegian painter Edward Munch’s Death In The Sick Room. In short, what can been written that really hasn’t been written before?

There may be a few words up for grabs considering this newest mounting is an adaptation of Wendy Kesselman who seems to enhance not modify the work of diary creators Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett. A few more words still come to mind when one considers the transformation the Bathurst Street Theatre has undergone in order to facilitate the set design.

The Diary is, of course, the account of a family of Jews in hiding during Nazi occupation. The trials and tribulations are real, the tension and hopelessness are daunting.

This, more than anyone, is Jennifer Waiser’s play as it would be any actor brave enough to attempt to model herself as the historic figure Anne Frank that’s been etched in the minds of book readers, theatergoers, and film buffs around the globe. The actress embraces the imagination, mannerisms and juvenility of a pubescent schoolgirl waiting for life to begin with sheer wonder. For Waiser it’s all in the vocal range but she’s too smart to just gamble on that alone.

But this is secondly a director’s play. Of this Alexander Galant is responsible for the stunning atmosphere that emits from the unsettling journey. He’s surprisingly successful at inculcating fear at every turn of the page employs a variety of sound effects to authenticate his every intuition as to what it was like for a family to live each day like it was their last.

Every now and then, one must pull back from stories of satire and intrigue so not to loose perspective of history and humanity in its boldest form. The Diary of Anne Frank is the perfect time machine making all things old new again.